As Kil walked off, Aika drifted toward Emma, her eyes sliding to the cake Emma had been eyeing.
Emma smirked, laughter bubbling out. "With what he just said, it's like he confessed! Pffft—hahaha!"
"Cut it out, Emma. Just pick one already," Aika muttered, rolling her eyes.
Kil, meanwhile, trudged down the street. The sky was dimming, shadows stretching across the cobblestones. He scratched the back of his head, groaning. 'Where was I supposed to go again? Right—the Principal's house.'
He shook his head, cheeks warming. 'What was I even blabbering about earlier? Haaah, embarrassing.'
Another thought struck him, heavier. "I still need a gift. She likes steak, doesn't she?" He tugged out his wallet, only to find a few pitiful bills inside. His shoulders sagged. "Seriously? This is barely enough for one steak."
He pushed through the crowded market, the air thick with the rich scent of roasted meat and sizzling fat. At the counter, he handed over his last bills, clutching the wrapped steak like it was treasure. Outside, he stared into his thin wallet, eyes stinging. "I'm broke… completely broke. How am I supposed to survive like this?"
By the time he reached the sidewalk again, the lamps had flickered on. He guessed it was close to seven. Footsteps pattered behind him—a young woman darted past, clearly rushing home. She turned sharply, colliding into him with a thud that sent them both sprawling.
"Ouch!" she winced, looking about a year younger than him.
Kil opened his mouth, then froze. His steak lay face-down on the ground. His eyes widened. "Aaaahhhhhh!" The cry tore out of him, long and broken. He snatched up the ruined package, staring as if the world had ended. "My five dollars… gone!"
A shadow loomed over him. A cracked cellphone was thrust inches from his face.
"Look at this! You broke my phone!" the woman snapped. "Do you even realize all my finals files were in here?"
Kil rose slowly, jaw tight, meeting her glare head-on. "And what about me? That steak was everything I had left. You think I wasn't watching where I was going? Don't pin this on me."
Her eyes narrowed. "So you're saying it's my fault?" The words came cold—and then her palm struck his cheek.
The slap cracked in the night air. Kil reeled but steadied, eyes narrowing. He didn't flinch at the fact she was a woman; his hand curled into a fist.
He swung, but she caught the motion and shoved his arm aside. Another slap stung his face, sharper than the first. He staggered, tried again, and once more she brushed his punch away as if swatting at a fly.
Kil stepped back, breathing hard, glaring at her. "Fine. Block one hit, I'll let it go. But twice… that's pushing it."
"From what I see, you've got too much confidence—but it won't get you anywhere," the woman said coolly. She tapped the cracked phone in her hand. "Alright, pay for this, and I'll leave."
Kil barked a laugh, sharp and bitter. "Pay? You were the one not watching where you were going."
Her steps closed the distance between them, eyes hard. "You're nothing but a burden."
Kil stiffened, ready, but her palm flashed quicker than he expected. The slap cracked against his cheek before he could react. He staggered, heat burning across his face. By the time he straightened, she was already sprinting off into the road.
"That shameless woman… calling me a burden." He rubbed the sting on his cheek, muttering under his breath. "Women, really." With a sigh, he adjusted his steps and made his way to the Principal's house.
He pressed the doorbell.
A voice floated from inside. "Wait, I'm on my way."
The gate creaked open—and Kil froze. Standing there was the same woman from earlier. Their eyes locked, surprise flickering into sharp seriousness.
"Did you follow me?" she demanded.
"Looks more like you're following me," Kil shot back.
Her lips curled. "You're so arrogant, but there's nothing special about you."
Kil exhaled through his nose. "Please. I let you off earlier only because you're a girl—and younger than me."
"Oh, really? You looked so serious back then, but it was all hot air. You've got nothing."
The front door opened, breaking the tension. "Who rang the doorbell?" the Principal asked, stepping out.
The woman turned quickly, voice sing-song. "An arrogant guy picking fights with girls. In short? He's gay."
Kil's fists clenched. "What did you just say—?"
"That's enough, Kil." The Principal crossed the yard, gently taking his arm. "Come inside." She leaned closer, her tone soft. "Forgive my granddaughter. She's… not good at dealing with boys."
The woman's eyes widened. "Grandma, wait—you know this guy?"
"Yes. He's Kil Whitlock, from my school," the Principal said. She glanced between them, suspicion rising. "Hold on… do you two already know each other?"
"No," they both answered at once, snapping their heads away from each other.
"Alright, come in and have dinner here," the Principal said, ushering them inside.
"Sit at the table. I'll get the meal ready."
Kil and the woman sat almost at the same time. Their eyes flicked toward each other, then darted away as if burned. Both leaned on their hands—Kil with his right palm against his cheek, the woman with her left.
"Hey," she said flatly. "Pay for my phone."
Kil turned, incredulous. "You've got some nerve. You're the one who ran into me."
She shoved back her chair and slammed both palms against the table. The wood rattled. "You've got the audacity to talk like that in my house?"
Kil didn't flinch. "What do I care if it's your house? Did I say I wanted to eat here? Pay for the steak I spilled."
Her laugh was short, sharp. "You're insane. Arrogant and insane. Fine—let's settle this."
"That's enough, Charlotte," the Principal cut in, setting down dishes of rice and stew.
The two sank back into their seats, though their eyes stayed locked in open hostility. They ate in tense silence until the Principal sat with them.
"So," she asked lightly, "how did you two meet?"
Both shot to their feet at once, pointing at each other. "We don't know each other!"
"Sit down," the Principal sighed. They obeyed, still glaring across their bowls as they chewed.
A minute crawled by. Then Kil's chair scraped sharply—he thrust out his right palm, braced on the table, and kicked up with his left foot. Charlotte ducked cleanly beneath it, her hair swishing past the strike.
Kil snapped his leg back, eyes narrowing. "Are you mocking me?"
"Why? Did it sting?" Charlotte smirked. "You're no match for me, not now, not ever."
Kil grinned tightly. "Then let's just fight."
Charlotte stood, turning toward the hall. "Grandma, get the room ready. We'll settle this properly."
Kil muttered, his words barbed. "Yeah, and tell her to wear her uniform where it belongs instead of strutting around here."
Charlotte stopped cold. She spun, stormed back, and grabbed Kil by the collar, hauling him up from his chair. Her glare bored into his. "And what about you? Still sitting here in your uniform?"
"At least this isn't my house. What about you? Still lazy even when you're home? Where's your brain?" Kil shot back, sharp as a whip.
Charlotte released him without another word and strode toward the room she'd spoken of, her steps clipped, daring him to follow.
"Come on. Let's see who's really short on brains," she tossed over her shoulder.
"Fine." Kil's reply was curt, but the smirk tugging at his mouth betrayed the challenge he welcomed.
Moments later, he pushed open the door. A broad chamber lay before him—polished floorboards scuffed by past sparring, air faint with sweat and dust. It was a room made for collisions.
Charlotte stood inside already stretching, her limbs loose, her focus locked on him. Kil lingered at the threshold, eyes sweeping over the walls, the space, the way the light caught in the corners.
"Can you stop gawking?" Charlotte raised her left hand, fingers flexing one by one until they curled in invitation. "Let's get this arrogance over with."
Kil's gaze hardened. He slipped off his tie with deliberate calm, then unbuttoned his long sleeves. Only the thin undershirt remained, clinging to a frame that was neither sculpted nor frail—ordinary, yet steady.
Charlotte's brow lifted. 'Not the body of a warrior,' she thought, 'but he carried himself like one.'
Kil closed the distance until he was right before her. "Just be sure you can handle me. I'll make you swallow those words," Charlotte said.
He answered only with a sharp smile—and then his foot snapped upward, cutting through the air toward her face.
She leaned aside, the kick whistling past. In the same beat, her fist darted toward his jaw. Kil caught it mid-swing, his right hand locking around her knuckles.
The match had begun.
Kil planted his right foot and spun sharply, his leg slicing through the air in a second kick. Charlotte leaned away, the strike passing harmlessly by, and lashed back with a left hook that cracked across his face.
The blow staggered him. He stumbled a step, vision flashing white—yet before he could fully recover, Charlotte was already there. Her fist drove toward his stomach.
Air burst from his lungs as the strike sank in, freezing him for a heartbeat. Gritting his teeth, he forced his body to move, flipping backward to break free of her advance.
Landing light on his feet, Kil launched upward again. Momentum coiled through his body, and he dropped a heavy punch from above. Charlotte caught it with one hand, her stance braced against the force.
He crouched low, sweeping a kick at her leg to break her balance. But Charlotte flipped back, her movement smooth and punishing—snaring him mid-motion and slamming him flat onto the floorboards.
The impact rattled his bones. He blinked up just in time to see her shadow loom, her foot arcing down toward his chest. With a roll, he slipped away, the stomp thudding where he'd lain a moment before.
Kil sprang back to his feet, sweat slicking his temples. He drove forward again, fists a blur. Punch after punch hammered toward her, but Charlotte weaved through them with infuriating ease.
Her arm met his in a clash, the two locking in a brief contest of strength. Kil seized her wrist, hauling it upward, muscles straining as he tried to overpower her. He twisted, aiming to slam her down—but Charlotte shifted in midair, her legs snapping around him like a trap, locking him in place.
With a guttural effort, Kil tore himself free and threw another desperate punch. Charlotte slid aside, answering with a sharp kick that forced him back once more.
The duel showed no sign of slowing—each exchange only sharpening the edge between them.
Another kick whipped toward Charlotte from the opposite side. The speed was brutal—she knew she couldn't dodge or block in time.
Just as the strike seemed bound for her face, Kil twisted mid-motion. His heel scythed overhead instead, skimming past her. The force cracked into the floorboards, then swept low, hooking beneath her ankles.
Her balance vanished. Charlotte toppled—only to feel an arm catch her before the ground did.
Kil's hand pressed steady at her back. Their gazes locked, close enough that his breath brushed her cheek. With two fingers set lightly at her neck, he murmured, "Checkmate."
"W-What?" Charlotte's voice hitched. Heat rushed across her face, painting her cheeks red. A heartbeat later she shrieked, "H-HAAA! Don't touch me!" She shoved him hard, tumbling down herself in the process.
Kil straightened and turned toward the Principal. "Hey, Grandma, who won?"
A vein bulged across the Principal's forehead. "Come here so I can hit you."
"Iiiiyyy!" Kil yelped and darted behind Charlotte like a child hiding from scolding. "Help me, I've never seen her this mad!"
"U-ugh! Don't cling to me!" Charlotte pushed him off again and marched to the Principal. "It's obvious I won. He didn't even land a hit."
"Yes, that's right, Charlotte. You're the winner," the Principal declared, her voice final.
Kil's protest never came—Charlotte's glare was more than enough to silence him.
Kil pushed himself off the floor and made his way back to the living room. Charlotte followed with a medical kit, kneeling beside him without a word. The sharp scent of disinfectant filled the space as she unwound a roll of bandages.
"Don't get the wrong idea," she muttered, dabbing at his wound with careful hands. "I'm only doing this because Grandma told me to."
Kil tilted his head, studying her face from up close. "You're even more beautiful like this," he said, his voice low, almost playful.
Charlotte's hand froze mid-wrap. Her eyes widened, and in the next instant her fist shot out, catching his shoulder. "Y-you can treat yourself!" she snapped, her cheeks burning crimson.
The Principal's voice cut in before Kil could retort. "By the way, why did you come here?"
Kil leaned back, still grinning despite the half-done bandage. "I just wanted to ask… if I get into another fight at school, will I be expelled?"
"Maybe," the Principal answered, folding her arms. "That depends on why you'd fight in the first place. So tell me—what would your reason be?"
Kil's grin sharpened. "The reason? I just want permission to beat the hell out of that damn Ken."